


Love, and other Monsters

by AceQueenKing



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: And winds up only sacrificing her humanity for it, F/M, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Incest, Leia plays the long game, Multi, Parent/Child Incest, Sibling Incest, The Force is an Eldritch Horror that Takes and Takes and Takes, Threesome - F/M/M, disturbing imagery, mentions of pregnancy and dynasty building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-22 19:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14316000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: If Leia regrets one thing in her life it is this: not going with her brother to confront Vader on Endor.She should have killed him, instead.





	Love, and other Monsters

If Leia regrets one thing in her life it is this: not going with her brother to confront Vader on Endor.

She should have killed him, instead.

She thinks about it sometimes, during the quiet parts of her day between warfare and peace: the last bit of her that exists between living and dying, rising and falling. She sees herself, the knife in her hand — or a lightsaber, or lightning, or, in one particularly memorable fantasy, Chewie's bow-caster, pinning Luke's small body to the Death Star's walls) She thinks about how Luke, _her_ Luke, would react; a vaguely surprised expression, his mouth open but no words coming out. It would have killed her but it would have saved them both so much pain.

Sometimes, she kills Vader in her fantasy, too; she pulls that hideous death mask off and scalps him, or suffocates him, or chokes him. The last is a particularly favored mode of execution; it feels like justice, like revenge — but she isn't sure why.

Once, she prayed that Luke would come back to her; that Arhane, sun goodness, would see him home. Now, she wishes, more than anything, that Luke had died before becoming the wraith creature who visits her dreams every night.

She doesn't like sleeping.

She tries to starve it off tonight as long as she can; if Han were still here, she would have taken him to her bed, let him keep her awake with sweet kisses and tender touches until she fell into a dreamless sleep, but Han is dead and gone and she cannot stand it. An accident took him from her, a speeder engine on Lathan overloading and Han's legendary reflexes and luck proving too slow, for the first time. He’d done it to cause a diversion, to let her limp to the next camp and dial for help against their native foes; he died a hero. Posthumously, he was given a medal for valor from the Rebellion.

Holding it doesn’t change the fact that he is gone, but she touches it reassuringly before bed, hoping that perhaps it will protect her tonight, bless her with dreams of a dead man and not a living one.

She hates more that she cannot blame Luke for it. Luke had nothing to do with it, she knows, which somehow burns worse. If Luke had killed him, Han’s death would have had meaning, purpose;  it would be so much easier if she could hate Emperor Skywalker as much as she hated Palpatine.  She had been lucky to escape Lathan with her life, and the knowledge that the native workers of Lathan had killed Han and so many other rebels simply out of the opportunity to ally themselves to an  Empire that was now pledging it would help them– it was harder, to hate that. Leia had known desperation, too. 

She wishes, desperately, that Luke had some part in it. She should hate Luke; Luke has robbed her of many things, left her this ghost. Co-Emperor Skywalker, first of his reign, has chipped away at her Rebellion by doing exactly what Palpatine refused to do:  slowly making the Empire better - outlawing slavery, quietly arranging accidents for the most corrupt moffs. What happens next is simply logical: Vader outwits the Rebellion on the battlefield and this leads the rebels to abandon hope. Luke takes advantage of this new source of discontent, slowly changing the Empire to address long-standing issues the Rebellion has been founded on – slavery, education, trade. Is it any wonder the Rebels have abandoned post in record numbers? Perhaps not, but it still burns. 

Their numbers have fallen dramatically, but still, Leia remains.

Leia lies alone, huddled up under a thin cover in the Falcon. She'd tried to give the Falcon to Chewie and Lando but both insisted Han would have wanted her to have it. She did not fight them on this point; the sheets still smell like Han. Sometimes she regrets not allowing them to come with her but she remembers Luke's ( _her_ Luke's) words on the way to Endor. Vader could sense him, would follow him to the ends of the galaxy.  Now they both sense her, pursue her. She knows it is another way the Rebellion has fallen - their princess has all but become a hermit, ruling them from on high rather than on the battlefield.

But she would die before letting a quirk of genetics lead to the total defeat of the Rebellion. She will not be the cause of Vader showing up in deep space unannounced; Mothma and Ackbar, the last bitter holdouts along with her, agree: they do not even let her know where the fleet goes, only informing her when there is a mission she can participate in.

Her existence is mostly solitary.

She thinks about suicide again as she drifts off, thinking about how easy it would be; there's certainly no lack of targets to throw herself at, fantasies to imagine dying for:  her favourite idea is to die a rebel martyr, to confront Vader and Luke, and make them bear the trauma of her death. She knows she has no chance against them – she was never trained by the Jedi, not like Luke. But she thinks she could at least make them see the light drain from her eyes, to make Luke know that he has killed her —

"That's a cruel thought," Luke says, and she realizes she has finally fallen asleep. Luke always comes in her dreams.

She'd be lying if she didn't almost welcome it. She has been alone a very long time. She throws the bedcovers to the side and stands and there he is, leaning in the doorframe of the  Falcon’s small living quarters. He looks enough like _her_ Luke still that her heart beats faster.

This Luke stalks toward her, offers her a hand. She takes it and he lifts her into a traitorous embrace that she loves and hates in equal measure.

"Luke," she whispers, her voice half hoarse with grief.

"Leia," he says. There is no grief in his voice; there is only happiness, comfort.  He brushes her matted hair away from her eyes and cups her chin.

"Come home, Leia," he murmurs. "Let us in. We miss you." This plea, again. This is how she knows that she is dreaming but not really dreaming, that this is the _other_ Luke who really is here with her. Her Luke would never subject her to _him_ , her Luke would never have abandoned everything they fought for the Empire.

She shakes her head. "I can't. I _can't_." She knows what he is asking and there is a part of her that wants it, wants to rewind time to when they were still on the same side; to before Luke turned, to Endor, where she could still hold him and feel fulfilled, her brother and herself freedom fighters in the same glorious fight.

"You can." Luke strokes her chin just a moment longer than she thinks he will, then dips in for a kiss from her. She lets him kiss her, listens to the soft, desperate gasps Luke makes between kisses. He loves her, very much; this is his weakness, as it is hers.  She loves him still, damn him, even knowing that he is not what she needs him to be. But it’s just – with Luke, she feels like herself, can feel her heart and his; she does not feel cut off from the universe, alone in a cold, merciless void. Luke makes her feel _alive_ and he frightens her, more than Vader, more than even Palatine.

He holds her close, his hands almost greedy. Perhaps her secret shame is his as well — that he cannot live but for the moments they are together. Luke’s hand finds its way under her sleep shirt, flickering at her breast. This is cruel to them both, she thinks, but especially to her: she enjoys it and lets him know in mewling pleas that betray everything that she has ever known to be right and true.

Luke's hand falters and he withdraws a second; Leia wonders, for a moment, if he'll leave her, and she's disappointed to admit to herself that she would  _mourn_ him should he leave. 

But then he looks up at her, eyes warm yellow, and she knows what has captured his attention: Vader. 

"Let him in, Leia," he murmurs between kisses. "Please? We both need..." He trails off but the meaning is clear. They both need _her._

She bites her lip; this is rarer, that Luke insists on Vader being there as well. He has only come with Luke twice, both times staying in the background, content to watch. She thinks of the death star, of strange injections, of pain beyond meaning, and her heart grows hard. There are things she could not forgive, except for...

"For me?" Luke asks, the familiar half-smile made alien by the yellow glittering light of his irises. His thumb presses into the soft skin of her breast, mixing pleasure with pain, and she nods, permission somewhat hesitantly given.

The temperature of the falcon drops precipitously as Vader appears.

 _Daughter_ , he says softly in a disturbingly gentle mental call; she does not acknowledge this. He is not and never will be her father in anything more than mere blood. 

 _Still spirited,_ I see, he says without saying words at all. 

"Of course she is," Luke croons. "She's one of us, father."

"I'm not," she hisses. "I love you, Luke, but I could never follow you down this path." Vader's mind twitches against hers at her words, an oddity she files away for later.

"We are bringing order and justice to the galaxy, Leia." Luke says, the speech obviously rehearsed. "Don't you want that? Don't you want to be with your family?"

He tilts his hand so that it lands on her cheek, stroking her pale skin.

"I have spent so many years wishing for you, daughter," Vader says, his hand, though more hesitant than Luke's, also landing on her shoulder.

For a long moment, she stands there, suspended between the two of them, the air surrounding them thick with tension. She can feel their emotions, through the force; easier than she has ever felt anyone else. From them, she feels only love, desire; they both want her, in different ways. They feel the absence of her, she knows, just as much as she feels the absence of them – and it’s not fair.

Her hand tightens at her side; neither man seems to notice.

"My family died on Alderaan," she says finally, breaking the bond and shrugging off both men. She walks away from them, desperate for a moment's reprieve. She knows it will not last longer than that.

She does not hear the huge steps that would accompany the man in life, but the same slow suffocation burns through her as Vader's hand lands on her shoulder. None too gently, he turns her around so she is facing him.

She glares up at him, angry enough to decide she won't be intimidated. Even if that isn't necessarily true - she need only look at her twin to know how dangerous her birth father is.

"Your kidnappers died on Alderaan, princess. Nothing but that. Had I known..." He reaches out and grabs her hand; she grimaces, wishing that he would leave. It is harder to ignore his emotions when she can feel twenty years of longing in his voice. _Damn him_. She hates that he has made her know this, too too, has forced her to acknowledge that the demon she's spent a lifetime fighting is, in fact, _human_ underneath all that armor. He shakes his head, clearly distressed. The hand holding her captive squeezes tight as Vader looks at her. "But that is not your failing. It is my fault you act this way. I should have seen it. You look _so much_ like your mother..."

There’s an undercurrent there, one that makes her stomach churn. She wants to twitch her hand away, to say she doesn't care about the birth mother who gave her her wavy hair or Luke's button nose. She wants to say that genetics does not matter, but, of course, her family's domination of the galaxy is proof that it does.

"Oh sister, you have no idea..." Luke croons, his mouth opening into a sickening smile as he saunters over to rejoin Vader at her side. "There is so much in the galaxy my eyes have been opened to, now."

Luke kisses her again and she feels the force spark between them, around them; she has become more and more awakened to it through these nightly terrors. She feels the absence of it now, more and more when she is awake. She pulls away, though it takes all her will to do so. She is faltering, she knows it; she still tries to persevere.

"No." She shakes her head. "No. Please _go_."

Vader and Luke look at one another.

"Sister," Luke says, shaking his head with a patient smile.  "Why do you fight this? Our time draws short, but you must know - it is only us who feel this way, around one another. We _belong_ together."

She swallows as Luke grabs her hand, ignoring her whirling mind and tracing delicate patterns in her skin. What was he saying? Was it only them who would ever feel this connection to one another? She couldn’t imagine anything more lonely. "I don't understand," she says, staring down at Luke’s hand, still stroking her own. How does he do this? How can he make her feel as if he was in the room with her? Is this part of his power, or merely a sign of their closeness, genetic or otherwise?

She wishes some Jedi had survived to teach her, to inform her of how to handle this, but Vader - and, now, perhaps, Luke - have done too good a job in eliminating them. Now she is the closest thing left to a claimant of the Jedi legacy, as laughable and tenuous a claim as that would be for her. She knows what Vader is, and, now, what Luke is becoming: a monster.

But she knows, whatever it is, she will _never_ be one.

"Surely you have noticed by now?" Luke glances back at Vader, who says nothing: the mask is its usual, blank death's head. Vader shakes his head and folded his arms, leaving Luke to devastate her in a few simple words. "Leia, we are not fully human."

Leia snorts, pulling away. Of course, they are human. She's sat through enough health programs on Alderaan to understand the human form, and how closely she matches it. A part of her heart knows and fears this, though, the idea that she is, somehow, even more different than she has feared.

"It is true," Vader interjects. "You are _not_ fully human."

"So what's the extra ingredient?" Leia asks, resorting to her dependable sass in light of being uncomfortable. "Does the Force count as a parent now?"

"Yes," Vader says, simply. "I was born of the force and a human woman, and you..." He shrugs, as if this is totally understandable, possible, and _sane_ , though of course, none of those things are true. "You are both human and something _more_ , daughter."

She says nothing, glancing from one to the other.

"It's true." Luke smiles in his familiar, goofy way that makes her stomach hurt. She wants, so badly, to awaken. "Is it any wonder we became leaders in the Rebellion? You and me, Leia, we're special. _Demigods_ , even!" She thinks for a moment about that boy who once stormed into her cell in too-large armor with too-blue eyes; what he would think of himself now, claiming to be half-God?

"He would think it was a good thing to see the truth," Luke murmurs. "You should shield your thoughts better, sister."

She swallows, uncomfortable. "It doesn't change anything," she says, but she could hear how clearly her voice warbled. The part of her that thought Luke spoke true – that frightens her, more than she wants to admit.

"It does." Luke's smile turns feral. "Don't you understand? We are the only ones who can understand one another, Leia - _ever_! We're the only ones who are fit to bring the galaxy to a new age of peace and prosperity! We are meant to help _everyone_! And we can't - normal people, they can't understand that. They _won't_."

"I don't think the Luke I knew would agree with that," Leia says, quietly. She has seen this madness in his eyes before, when Luke promised that he would bring Vader back. She had thought it crazy, then. Now he has abandoned her -

"Oh no, Leia, no," Luke purrs. "I could never do that to you. Please come to us, Leia, you can't keep living like this, so isolated... You could be among your _family_ here, and we will keep you safe. You won't want for anything." Luke kisses her, passionately, his arms cradling underneath her bottom in a gesture that was anything but a demonstration of sibling love. "I love you, Leia. I always have."

"I know," she says, squeezing his side.

"It's only natural that we'll marry." He smiles dreamily, his eyes a sickly mixture of yellow and blue, each vying for control

"We can't marry. I'm your sister." _Wake up_ , she thinks, _wake up wake up wake up._

Luke pinches her bottom and chuckles. "Leia, little things like _incest_ are behind us now, I keep telling you: we're too powerful to be concerned with things like that. You will never have this type of relationship with anyone else. You _can't_." Luke looks at her with an almost mischievous glee that she had never seen on his face prior to this moment. "That’s why things with Han..."

"What about Han?" Her voice, which had trembled, no longer did; she feels her blood boiling in her veins, and channels it, even if she is well aware where that heat comes from, now. "What are you saying?"

"Leia," Luke says, with such infinite sadness that she wants to punch him. "You and me, we burn so bright... People like Han, like Mon Mothma, even the Emperor - they can't compete with us. The midiclorians within them worship us, they - " Luke's lips quirk, and she barely resists the urge to slap him across the mouth. "They will always choose to come to us, eventfully, to worship us, to become one with us.   _They live for us._ Why do you think so many who love us have died for us?"

The realization of what Luke is saying hits her like a ton of bricks and she sits, mutely, on their bed; Vader takes a step toward her but Luke shakes his head, and for that she is thankful. She thinks of Han; his beautiful smile, his familiar swagger. All of which had become more and more attuned to her until finally, he made the ultimate sacrifice for her. And now, it is _her fault_ that he loved her, _her fault_ that he is dead.

“It is hard, I know," he says, rubbing her arm. "It took me and even father a long time to learn of this power.”

“This curse,“ she says, her voice wooden; Luke pats her arm with a sympathy she shouldn’t be comforted by, even if it does make her feel better.

“It happened to our mother, first; our father's energy consumed her; then ours, with Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, with Bail Organa and Breha - "

"No, Luke, I can’t, please don’t say their names right now," she whimpers, trying desperately not to cry but failing. She feels the hot tears falling across her cheeks, suddenly aware that her stalled execution had been only through Alderaan’s destruction – and now, according to Luke, that, too, had been her fault. She wants, more than anything, to deny it.

But it feels, as it had when Luke had told her of their terrible family secret, of nothing but the truth.

She crumples down onto the bed, hot tears falling from her eyes. She is so very tired of being alone, and if Luke is right, then she always will be. She thinks of the next eighty years of her life — spent on this little ship in this thin little bed, running and fighting for a government she would never be able to join — and wishes, more than anything, for death.

"Their sacrifices were noble," Luke says, his hand soothing, running down her back. She feels a second hand, larger than Luke's, on her shoulder, and wishes, so badly, that she could awaken and get away from these two. But then, if she awoke — if she left, she would be alone again, and she is so tired of being alone, of fighting alone, of being completely isolated, and she’ll never be able to have anyone visit now. She can’t have Lando or Chewie or Mothma or Ackbar or Reikan visit her; she cannot consume them, be responsible for their death.

"Please, Leia, come to us on Coruscant," Luke says, but she isn’t listening, her mind focused more on Alderaan, on the Death Star, on the arm that clung to her shoulder then and now, on pain and firing and suffering, the rise of the people in her life and their fall, a never-ending cycle of death -

"Leia, Coruscant. _Please_." Luke pleads. "You know that the rebellion is _pointless._ Come _home_. We can change the galaxy. The war will be over."

“Your place is here,” Vader says, gently, stroking her hair with almost fatherly pride.  She wants to launch into an argument with them again, to tell them that that is not her choice, that even if she was to come to them, the Rebellion will continue, will fight to the last man. But, as the many soldiers abandoning their posts has proved — her fight _is_ pointless. The only way they would fight to the very end would be if Leia goes back to them, inspires them in one grand, horrible suicide.

Then the air shimmers, and Leia is alone. She bolts up, heaving, but she is alone.

She flops back into bed in a hot and miserable sweat. She cries silently, tears running down her cheeks. She doesn't bother to wipe them off. She knew in the way her adopted parents had loved her, in the way Han had come to revolve around her, in the way that the Rebellion, even Mon, had come to be organized under her banner. It has never been her charm, her desire; it has been the force. It wills it so, wants her so. She is a child of the force, like Vader, like Luke, and the force blesses her.

Even when she doesn't want it to.

She, in the end, is every bit as dangerous as Luke, as Vader. No matter what she does, she will always be as bad for the galaxy as they are. She will always be alone, if not…with her family, what remained of it: a brother who had betrayed her, a father who had tortured her.

And now, the Emperors wish for her to become an Empress. Even if she fights, if she goes down swinging - there are two of them, and only one of her. She is bound to lose. She groans, barely biting back the feral scream that wants to escape her throat. Unless she can suddenly clone herself, she will always be outmatched, until Vader or Luke dies, and only one was left, and even then —

A thought crosses her mind, one that makes her almost sick. There _is_ a way of changing that; she could go to them. She wouldn’t be alone, and if Luke wants her as a bride, they could - she swallows. The Force will provide, she thinks; a child, and Leia sees them in her mind’s eye for on moment: a blond daughter, with bright brown eyes, their hand outstretched. The girl would be trained by _them_ , but raised with her morals, and then-then - she would have the sword to hold against those beloved monster’s throats.

It would take a long time, of course; it would require her to birth another one of _them_ , but the child would understand, would _have_ to understand. Leia would make her child understand the risks, the reason why they would need to be born. It was one life, against the galaxy – and if they ran away together after killing them, then neither Leia nor her daughter would be alone. They could find a place in one of the abandoned planets – where neither Luke nor Vader would go – and live, simply, for the rest of their lives as the mad emperors Skywalker and their empress concubine passed into the realm of myth.

Leia rises, moving to the Captain's chair – Han’s chair – and punching in the coordinates for the Imperial Center. Another gift from Luke, or Vader, she supposes. She knows those digits as easily as she had once known her times tables, so many years ago.

She chuckles. Once, those times tables had been the worst test she could imagine enduring. Now,  she faces the worst test she has ever been through – and she has to go through it alone.

At least until she can survive long enough to do what needs to be done.

\- - -

She did not like the feeling buried deep within her, a foreboding that wicks through her body with queasy uncertainty.

Mon's constant holocomms - which began the second she moved out of her self-imposed exile, and has continued since, Mon burning the generators’ heavy relays just to hear Leia’s voice- also add to the feeling, a dull headache that rings through her thoughts like an alarm.

Selfishly, Leia refuses to answer. Cannot answer, really; her plan is mad, and _she_ is mad. She cannot and will not endanger the rebellion. The next time she will see Mon, they will both be old women. With luck, Luke and Vader's heads will be on spikes outside of her hall. She thinks of this and feels conflicted for a long moment before realizing that this, too, is a pointless fantasy; she will never see Mon again, cannot risk seeing her again only to wind up with her blood on Leia’s fingers, red and scalding.

Her breath catches in her throat as she sees Coruscant for the first time in years. She had last visited with her father, her _true_ father, shortly before Luke had come into her life. Now she returns, but knows, all too well, that the family she is coming to is more than kin and less than kind. Her true family is dead, and her relationships to all the people she cares about lie upon a mental pyre. Leia feels a hot trail of tears cascading down her cheeks as she watches Corsucant’s sun burn low, and she wipes at it, furious. She has a mission now, and she cannot afford to get sentimental.

Luke is waiting for her. She feels that, too; Luke makes his presence known in the cool spread of tingling pleasure that flows through her veins. She gets the sense that Vader is pleased she has come as well - though from him she feels a more detached curiosity, an interest, but not the all-consuming love that Luke burns with for her; his mind wicks against her own only for a moment, a pleasing burst of static. Luke, however, is practically in the seat next to her. She feels his eyes on her even knowing he is watching her on the horizon.

It’s an odd thing. She’s more than aware that Luke's emotions are not her own, but still, she feels them, experiences the burst of pleasure her presence brings him. She can see him if she focuses; Luke is clad in a black outfit similar to the one he wore on Endor; rich, black silk, sitting on what was once Palpatine's throne.

He stands and motions for father, and her breath catches in her throat. She shakes her head, focuses on the air around her, breathing deeply to combat the nausea she feels. Soon, one of them will be the father of her child, and the thought of that terrorizes her more than anything. She isn't sure which one of them will be better; Luke, she loves, but Vader is more powerful. She wonders if she will even be able to tell, and decides that perhaps, it is better that she does not.

She closes her eyes and wipes away tears again, tries to look happy as her ship descends into a hanger so luxurious it must be one of the Emperor's private spaceports. Luke has cleared a double space for her, and she moves into the spot easily. And then she sees him.

Luke waits for her, eyes calmly but impishly wide, a grin plastered across his face. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back; she opens the door of the Falcon and Luke, unable to resist, jogs toward her. For a second, she thinks that something of _her_ Luke remains; Luke bounds up the Falcon, bright blue eyes flashing so bright she can almost ignore the silk, the black cape; he throws his arms around her and kisses her and ignores how wild she must look, with matted hair and red, tear-stained cheeks.

"Welcome home," he says, softly. She nods, but doesn’t trust herself to say more than that, overwhelmed with the sudden sensation of Luke’s arm touching her own; his touch ripples through the force and Leia shivers. He grabs her arm and leads her down from the ship. Vader emerges as they appear at the door. She nods toward him and does not look away from his intense gaze. After a few moments of awkward silence, Vader returns the gesture, but seems less comfortable with Leia’s presence than Luke does— that is information that she tries to file away for the future. She is playing court now, she knows; balancing the desires of the father to the son and playing games for their power.

"We shall bring you to the baths, of course," Luke says, snapping his fingers; a droid that reminds Leia of Threepio appears at his side and her breath catches in her throat. Will she ever see her droids again? She does not know, will not - no, cannot - think of such.

"Draw your Empress a bath," Luke says in a voice of command that seems better practiced than she knows it possibly can be. The droid tottles along ahead of them. Leia follows, noting the different looks of the Emperors’  royal home as she goes further into the personal level than she has ever been before: the polished durasteel gradually being overcome by white stucco and warm lighting; things she would find hard to imagine Palpatine favoring. There's a warm, well-lit library on her left, well-stocked in flimsies that makes her itch to take a look at them, to try to find something, anything the Rebellion could latch onto.

But then, can she ever even talk to Mon again?

Vader's hand lands on her shoulder, heavy and tight. "They are not your concern any longer, my _empress_."

She glares up at him, cheeks pink, but says little. Vader doesn't draw his gaze away from her; she wonders if he sees her mother in her.

 _Yes_ , his mental voice answers, and her skin crawls. She does her best to throw up her mental shields; wishes, not for the first time, that the Jedi had thought her as important to train as they had once thought Luke. Vader looks away then, and she tries to remember to keep them up: from now on, she has secrets she must keep.

After what felt like ages, the droid stops d outside a large door, one without hinges or any sort of entrance mechanism. Luke raises a hand; the doors open with the force. Of course. What better way to denote their deification to the common public than to control the very method of entry into their residence with their minds?

She is paraded into what is, frankly, an utterly decadent bathroom: real water, already running into a crystalline-carved pool. The tile is warm under her feet, and she feels another burst of hatred for the oh-so-late Emperor Palpatine, and how he lived in such blatant comfort when so many suffered.

But now he was dead, and his successors beam down at her as the droid draws her bath.

"Go ahead," Luke whispers, tugging on her dress. "We'll help you if you want."

She does not want to be so vulnerable here, but neither man shows any sign of leaving. Shivering, Leia pulls her dress over her head; a comm beeps on Vader's belt at the same time. He pulls his attention away from her, though Luke did no such thing, transfixed on her naked form. His keen eyes on her make her blush, to the point that she barely hears the sniveling imperial on the other line, informing Emperor Vader of trouble somewhere in the castle.

"I will take care of this," Vader says; "See that she is cared for."

He barely glances at her before leaving, and Leia wonders if perhaps this is a sign that her plan is doomed to fail. She had not taken into account the idea of him not wanting her. But plans can be modified, she thinks. Luke takes her hand, stares at her adoringly as he leads her into the pool.

He does help her as he said he would, part of the old Luke still inside him, somewhere; she does not blush as he helps tend to her, murmurs sweet nothings as he scrubs at her neck and comes through her hair; makes clicking, concerned noises at the blaster marks she still wears on her skin from Endor.

She can't help but relax into his care, closing her eyes just a bit; if this is how Luke will be with her, she can perhaps learn to live with this, to ignore the darkness she can feel nipping at the gentleness in his movements. He slowly restores her, makes her whole; she almost cries, feeling, for the first time in so long, like she belongs.

But she does not forget what he is. No, she will never forget that now. Someday, she will be in a position to hurt him, and she cannot keep the love that burns through her – his emotions, almost scaldingly hot — and she cannot, will not stay her hand.

"You're so beautiful," Luke whispers, his fingers moving from scrubbing her shoulder with a cloth to caressing her breasts. She opens her eyes and finds him staring at her.

"Kiss me," he says, but it's not a question - it's a demand. He leans forward and she hesitates; only for a moment, but for a moment too long.

He stands, dropping the wash-cloth,  hurt written on his face. "I do not understand your reticence, dear sister. You have come here - why do you not accept me?"

"I do," she says, quietly; she keeps her shields high, even though she feels Luke lash against them. "It's just - this is so new to me, Luke."

This seems to relax the savageness within him; Luke's eyes drain of the sickly yellow and he pulls her forward, those strong arms gently lifting her out of the bath and pressing her to his chest, making them both sopping wet.

He kisses her with deliberate gentleness, his mouth sliding over her own. She leans into it, tries to embrace it; Luke moans, wanton, into her mouth as her own arms curl around his neck. She can feel it, now, between them; the force moves along both their fingers, and she feels every touch he makes on her skin in his senses and her own. They are less two people than one mind split between two bodies; and if he is a monster, then, what does that make her?

She loves him, still, despite how much he frightens her.

"I love you, too," he says, quiet, his hand slowly but possessively landing on her hip. "I love you so much, Leia. I'm so happy you're with us, now."

She nods, but does not speak, for she will not tell him the truth.  Instead, she kisses him again; Luke groans, and she feels his desperation to claim her; his tongue darts to her mouth, seeking entrance as he tries, desperately, to taste every last bit of her essence.

His cock is hardening against her legs; she can feel it, the thick, hard mass of it constraining his sodden pants. She presses one hand to it and he moans, enraptured; she tries not to let her feeling of disgust break through her limited shielding.

"In time, you will move past these old traditions," Luke says, softly. "Come, sister; I think it is time we go to bed."

Leia's stomach twists at the words, but she allows Luke to lead her, thinking how different it is from the first time she laid with Han. Somehow, being wedged together in the Falcon's sleeping quarters, trying desperately to keep quiet so Luke and Chewie didn't overhear them, still felt far more romantic and less stressful than this. Luke leads her to an attached bedroom, stepping out of the soft shirt with an ease that makes her blush. He is still a good looking man; slim, like her, with strong muscles that speak to years of hard-worn living. He is still slightly tan; still tastes lightly of sand, nothing like the coppery taste of Han at all.

She will not think of Han. Cannot. She will not betray his memory by making him a party to this.

"Come, sister," Luke pants. "Leia. It is time for us to embrace our destiny."

"No," she says, shaking her head; her stomach jitters. This is the part of her plan she hates the most, but the part she needs most to succeed. Luke, in the process of taking off his pants, looks up at her abruptly, his task forgotten.

"No?" He looks at her, confused. "But - you want me, you - "

"I do," she says, waving a hand, and looks down, trying to look demure even as she makes the most whorish request she has ever made. "But not you alone."

Luke's eyes open wide, and she is peevishly pleased to have made the monster scandalized. "You - _what_?"

"If we are to lay together as a family, then I will have you both," Leia says, and uses all of her political training to make her expression carnal, not reflective of the nervous queasiness she feels deep inside. If Han or Bail or Breha could see her now, prostituting herself to a dynasty she will damn with her own two hands - she cannot tell if they would be proud or disgusted. Perhaps she does not want to know.

"Him _?"_ Luke hisses; there is jealousy in his eyes; surprising. "You hate him!"

"Things can change, Luke. I did not come here to become your pet." It is the only thing she can to protect her future child; if neither of them knows if this is their child, she suspects neither will move against the child. Vader will not scheme to take the child from them if he suspects it is his son; Luke will not raise a hand against his daughter, the way he might to a half-sister. She has been in Imperial politics before and knows how it works; family — blood — is nothing compared to opportunity. Only doubt will protect her child long enough for their sword to find their fathers’ neck. It is the only thing she can do, and so she insists.

"Fine." he sneers. "If you are prone to such _tastes_ , dear sister, I will indulge you." He presses the comm on his belt, asks their father to come to join them, and Leia wills her heart rate to calm, to tell herself it means nothing, that she is doing this to protect the future, that she is doing what she must do to fight.

"Understood," Vader's voice booms, and she looks up at Luke, who smirks, pulling off what is left of his pants in one deft motion. The lightsaber, she notes with satisfaction, has been thrown to the side of the room along with his pants - he does not think her a threat.

"Do you wish to wait for him to start?" Luke asks, sarcastic; his cock looks painful at the prospect, already flushed red and dripping.

"No," she says, taking a step forward and pushing Luke back on the bed. He falls backward in a dramatic fall, arms spread wide in a way that she memorizes for her fantasies later. In day-dreams, she knows, she will bear a knife on him; will hurt him and will imagine him falling, trailing ruby ichor; but that day is not today. Today, she will fuck him, and she will keep her hopes alive.

"Leia," he breathes as she scrambles on top of him; there is a part of her that she hates that is even slightly eager for this, the part that has always loved Luke and loves him still. Her hair, wavy from the water, spills over her breasts as she bends forward, her lips seeking his. Luke kisses her warmly, hands rising to her hips as she backs up to position herself. He's more uncertain on this, she notes: Luke lets her take advantage, handling his cock for him. She feels a slight burst of nervousness from him and realizes, quivering, that this will be his first time.

"Please," he whispers, in a way that makes her nerves tingle; the force sparks between them, the mental connection enhancing her pleasure by letting her understand his. She strokes his cock for a few moments and feels the unusual pleasure of it; the throbbing organ pumping with own heart’s rhythm. She can feel how Luke wants, so badly, to be inside her - through the force, the feeling is almost overwhelming.

She presses his cock to her entrance; he hisses in exaltation as he moves inside of her. She moans, half in pain and half in pleasure; Luke is as wide as Han, which is unfortunate, given what she is about to do. He’s uncomfortably filling, and even with her own wetness, she can't quite fully envelop him without resistance - but with Luke's feelings tingling through her sense of the force, she feels his pleasure in taking her: the tightness of her cunt, the slickness of her skin.

She curls her fingers deeper into his shoulders as he holds onto her, his pace starting slow but picking up pace fast.  "Luke," she whimpers; Luke doesn't slow down his pace, pounding into her with a ragged gasp. The door opens behind them and he does not slow his pace.

Vader stares at them for a moment, and she feels his emotions mixing with theirs in the force - shock, discomfort. He sees her hair falling down his shoulders and thinks of another woman, another life - and Leia realizes what she needs to do to make her plan succeed.

"Join us," she murmurs, "father." She shoots him a heavy look with her mother's eyes, and Vader’s intense glare is only on her. She leans into the force, her novice's grip on it, unstable but enough to get just the slightest feelings through their paternal bond - temptation, considering, distrust, shock. It has been many years, she catches, and smirks, throwing behind a sultry smile. Luke's hands tighten on her hips, jealous, but Leia takes no notice of the pain.

 _You can call me her name, if you want,_ she offers; it's a disgusting, debasing offer, and she wants, more than anything, to deny this; to rob him of his humanity, of his longing for a long-dead wife. But she knows this is the price for the future, and so she offers herself to him; she lowers her shields a bit to prove that she is willing, that Luke did not put her up to this - though she keeps them high enough that she prays he does not discover why she wishes to lay with him.

Vader crosses the few steps toward them, saying nothing; his hands stay on his belt which is almost comical given the situation. The air is filled with nothing but the sound and scent of their rutting, with only the exasperated wheeze of Vader's respirator joining them.

Luke looks up at Vader, a hint of victory buried in those eyes. "Are you content to watch, father?"

She knows what Luke would prefer.

Vader's hand goes to the thick cloak strung along his neck; with one smooth gesture, he removes it, throwing it to the side. "No."

Luke's eyes cloud over with yellow; he does not like this, she can tell. She swallows and smiles reassuringly and digs her nails into his shoulders. He grunts in pain and Leia hisses in triumph.

The bed shifts as Vader climbs behind her, and she tries to ignore the feeling of near-always suffocating intensity; Vader burns brighter in the force than her, so hot she can barely read his mind. His hand, still clad in the thick, leather gauntlets that he has always worn around her, hesitantly touch her shoulder.

 _Is this truly what you want?_ He asks, mentally; Luke doesn't react, and Leia fights to keep her brows from raising in surprise. That he does not want to keep Luke in their mental contact makes Leia wonder if perhaps they have already begun battling for position within their sick order; jackals turning on one another already.

"Yes," she says out loud, her voice wanton; Vader's arm glides down her side, snakes past her belly. He reaches down and grinds one heavy thumb into her clit; her breath catches in her throat. The force flexes around them, the three of them; she can feel everything they both feel in regards to her - the softness of her skin, the reminder of something long ago lost.

Vader's thumb slowly works at her clit, making her gasp. She is no longer acting; much to her annoyance, he is good at this, she will grant him that. Between his fingers and Luke's cock, still moving within her, and their feelings toward her - love, all-encompassing, even if one is perhaps not so pointed at her as a woman twenty years dead - it's enough to make her gasp and moan, shivering within moments between them.

She does not want to come, knows it would be, somehow, worse, in the long run; undeniable proof she has enjoyed this, that this is more than just simply a way to try to win for the rebellion in some way. There's a selfish part of her that does enjoy this, that rejoices in the feel of the force connecting her to two people who love her more than anything else, the only two who she will ever quite experience this way, and she knows that even if she seeks out  other partners,  all other sex will be unable to compare, robbed of sensation.

But then, she will never have other lovers. The force has taken care of that for her, too.

"Look at me," Luke says, still insecure; she does. She focuses on Luke and wills herself to keep Luke in her memories the way he was, once. She focuses on him even as Vader's hand curls around her clit, slowly circling it again and again.

She comes, shuddering, but has no time to enjoy it; Vader shoves her forward, roughly; he widens her legs, spreading her cunt and she feels like she is on display, self-conscious. Luke picks up on this, counters with feelings of how good she looks; Vader's interest is far more clinical. She hears the pop of something of Vader’s armor but focuses her attention on Luke for the moment.

She kisses Luke as he stills beneath her, whimpering as Vader rubs himself in the mixture of her and Luke’s liquids, grazing her cunt. Lube, she realizes, numbly; the realization is the only thing that keeps her from being shocked as he drives himself into her, going deep in one long stroke.

She cries out a bit into Luke's shoulder, who holds onto her with a desperate zeal. Vader holds onto her hips, forcing both her and Luke to remain still for a moment. All she can think of is pain, being stretched wide by two cocks; Vader is very much, it turns out, where Luke gets his proportions from, and Leia shivers slowly.

Vader slowly moves inside her, with a gentleness she would not expect; his feelings toward her - affection, a name she does not know, a pleasing appreciation of her smile – surprising. Luke, impatient, moves quicker, eagerly pressing himself tighter into her.

She loses herself into the torrent of desire between them; Vader increases the pace to match Luke, his heavy arms pressing down on her in a way that makes her feel like she is suffocating.

They move beyond words; Vader's only sound is the relentless and oppressive wheeze of his respirator, Luke, too, is wheezing, his face balling up in furious concentration. He is reaching his limit, she knows; she is not far behind.

She closes her eyes, overwhelmed with love, with desire, with the force itself as it bobs between them in eddies and lakes; she thinks of her own loves, of  Han, of his beautiful face, of Luke's goofy smile, and she loses herself in the thought of them, of what they once had, and the feelings that surround her - the pleasure she receives from Vader, from Luke. If this is what sex was like for Jedi, she can't imagine how the order ever died out.

Luke cries out, a loud cry, and buries himself deep inside of her. She kisses him, but Vader shows no mercy, continuing to pump her hard as Lukes slowly slides away. Once, she might have imagined this, Luke in front of her with Han behind - but this was not that. Vader does not love her the way Han did; she is but an instrument that reminds him of someone lost long ago. Still, he loses himself within her; she feels his shields waiver, his desire growing. His heavy hands haul her towards him her, shoving her back into the sharp plate of his armor; his hands caress her nipples, the heavy leather slowly thumbing one, then the other.

It’s Luke who takes her over the edge; his hand moves back toward her now aching clit, forcing her to hit her second orgasm hard. Vader holds her steady and takes his own release seconds later, withdrawing and leaving her hurting and cold.

She lies down to Luke's side, well aware of her exhaustion, of Luke's own pleasant euphoria; of Vader's feelings toward her. It's Vader who is first to redress; she hears the codpiece snap back into place but does not turn her head to look upon it.

"I am going back to our duties," he says, and she can feel his already-burning guilt through the force. Luke doesn't seem to notice, curling an arm around her.

"I'm so happy you're here," Luke whispers, kissing her. His legs wind around hers, reminding her she is here to stay, now. She's sore, her back scraped up from leaning back on Vader; her vagina is uncomfortably sensitive, overstimulated. It should take her forever to fall asleep, and yet, bobbing in the calm of Luke's warmth and security, her own lids grow heavy.

She thinks, as sleep claims her, of what she's left behind; it's a long game, and this is but the first move. She thinsk of the child they will one day have, the three of them - she can almost see them now: blond hair, blue eyes, but her chin, her mouth. It will be a girl, she thinks.

She can only hope that she and this girl-child, unconceived and yet not unknown, will be enough. She holds a hand over her belly and prays; if she is lucky, the girl will come quick, the dynasty secured. If she is truly lucky, she’ll resist Luke and Vader’s corruption long enough to escape with the child – if not, she will expect her daughter  to take her mother’s head, along with her fathers. It is a cruel fate, but no crueler than Leia’s.

But that is many years away.

For now, she sleeps, uneasy, with dreams full of bloodlines stirring in her heart.


End file.
